


Painted Skies

by siriuslyapple



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff, Happy Ending, I'm proud of this, M/M, No Angst, Stars, They're In Love Your Honor, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but good tears, but it's so small i promise, dreamnotfound, george is Soft, i cried, okay maybe a touch of angst, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:09:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29990262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslyapple/pseuds/siriuslyapple
Summary: “That sounds nice. Do you like constellations?” There’s a haze floating over their words, an unspoken emotion hovering in the space between them.“I love them. They’re stories embedded in our lives. If I was ever important enough to be etched in the stars, I think I would be whole.” He smiled into his phone as he spoke, his worries dissolving into the air.Dream is the sun, and George is the stars.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	Painted Skies

**Author's Note:**

> Hey I'm proud of this, this is their internet personas, in no way am I speculating or shipping real existing people. If George or Dream ever say they are uncomfortable with this kind of work, I will delete it! Enjoy :]

_ Dream painted the sky with stars, dotting the inky black void with glowing balls of energy. The salty ocean water lapped at his bare waist, gliding over his gently tanned skin. His long fingers swirled in the starry expanse above his head, drawing stories and emotions into it. The moon dangled low in the sky, casting a warm light over his freckled face. The world had stopped, and he was alone in his bliss, his bright eyes fluttering closed in peace. _

His phone blared, and the blonde shot up in his bed, his sheets wrapped around his waist like the dreamland ocean had been. He groaned and fumbled on his table for his phone, finally answering it in a low voice.

“Hmm?” He murmured, dropping back against his bed, his tense muscles loosening.

“Dream?” The worried voice that echoed from the speaker shocked Dream back into consciousness, tugging him back over the line into sleep. 

“George? What’s up?” The Floridian swung himself out of bed, padding his feet against the cold floor, aimlessly walking to keep himself awake. 

“I don’t know, I just… I don’t know. I wanted to talk to you, I guess.” His normally loud voice had relaxed into a nervous hum that stirred the butterflies in Dream’s stomach, their imaginary wings beating against his rib cage. 

“Well I’m always here, George. It’s really early for you to be awake, did you ever go to sleep?” His bare back presses against a cabinet and he slides onto his kitchen floor as a sigh passes through his phone.

“I tried, I couldn’t sleep. Did I wake you?” He can almost hear George’s crooked frown and furrowed eyebrows, and his mind sketches and colours an image of the man on the other end of the line. 

“Yeah, but it’s okay. I was having a dream, so I wasn’t sleeping that deeply. Really, don’t worry about it, I can sleep when you don’t need me.” He means it, besides, the dream wouldn’t have gone anywhere that didn’t already include his best friend.

“What were you dreaming about?” His green eyes open at the interest that has bled into the Brit’s voice, and his lips pull into a loose smile.

“I was painting.” He hums, remembering the gorgeous scene he’d made in his sleep.

“What were you painting?”

“The sky. But not a painting of the sky, like. I was  _ painting the sky. _ I was placing the stars and drawing the constellations. I was mixing the galaxies and deepening the black. I got to choose how the moonlight would reflect over the ocean. It was beautiful.” 

“That sounds nice. Do you like constellations?” There’s a haze floating over their words, an unspoken emotion hovering in the space between them.

“I love them. They’re stories embedded in our lives. If I was ever important enough to be etched in the stars, I think I would be whole.” He smiled into his phone as he spoke, his worries dissolving into the air. 

“It’s why I love your freckles.” George breathes and then gasps. “I mean! Fuck! Shit.” 

“You love my freckles?” The beating of wings speeds up, and his lungs pulse, stopping the oxygen in his throat. 

“They’re like constellations drawn into your skin. I want to trace them someday.” The tone has drastically changed, and their voices are low. Genuine. Real. Loving. 

“I want you to trace them someday.” Dream’s own thumb traces over his cheek, feeling the warmth flare beneath the pad of his finger. 

“Dream…” George was quiet, an undetectable emotion laced with his words.

“I painted you in the stars, George.” The blonde heard a sharp gasp in his right ear and a shaky breath.

“Why?” The heat pooling in his heart spread out into his hands, lacing into his fingers and wrapping around his veins. 

“Because you’re an angel, and you deserve to be written in the sky, drawn into the ink with ivory paint. You’re beautiful, and I owe it to the heavens to show them.” Dream imagines wrapping his arms around his best friend, speaking his words into his fluffy hair, his hand tracing the outline of his jaw. 

“Dream…” He hesitated.

“It’s okay, George. Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry.” The line dropped and the air went cold. Dream sighed and sunk even further into the floor, curling into the tile and letting him slip under the warm waters of salty sleep.

\---------------------------------------------------

Three loud knocks rang through the warm house, and green eyes snapped open, glaring at the spinning ceiling fan through thick golden curls. Long legs swing out of his low bed, and Dream drags himself to the door, grumbling about early morning solicitors. He tugs the door open, rubbing his eyes and yawning, mumbling a halfhearted greeting.

“I know it’s early, and I’m sorry, but you said all of those amazing things and I just blanked and I didn’t get to tell you that I think you’re liquid gold. If I am the stars, you are the sun. Your eyes are made of honey and your skin is made of silk. I froze up and I didn’t get to tell you that you’re a hand carved beauty. I don’t know what to say but I-” 

George’s rushed words are cut off by Dream leaning down and pressing his soft lips against his own in a frantic, yearning movement. Long fingers tangled in blonde curls, pulling the taller man closer, pouring his soul into him, purples and reds swirling behind his eyelids.

His body fit perfectly against Dream’s, pressed into each other like a lost puzzle piece finally come home. His jaw cradled by a warm hand, his cheekbones traced by a flaming thumb. Fire bloomed between their knit together souls, weaving into the empty spaces, wrapping around them and holding them close. 

They pull away, hot breath intertwining between their flushed, swollen lips. George’s deep eyes flutter closed, and he hums in a gentle bliss, his mouth tugging into a warm smile. Dream’s thumb glides across milky skin, his sage eyes drinking in George’s features, memorizing his face in this moment, in case he’d never get to see it again.

“George?” His finger slides under the shorter’s chin, tilting his gaze up.

“Dream?” His eyes open and they’re filled with concern specked with joy, wide and expectant.

“I love you, George.” The relief that floods the older man’s face makes Dream’s lips pull into a broad smile, his tongue tucked between his teeth.

“I love you, Dream. More than the sun, the moon, and the stars in the sky.” Each word is accentuated with a small kiss, and he laughs brightly as he’s scooped up into Dream’s arms, his face buried in his warm neck. 

Sometimes the stars tell stories, etched into the sable sky, and outlining tales of love and tragedy. Sometimes they dangle from thin silver strings, low and hanging over the heads of beautiful worlds. Sometimes there are so many stars that the sky is ablaze, flaming devotion painted above longing souls. These are the nights when the stars are entwined with the sun; when they are one, wrapped in each other so tight they can’t help but burn.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @siriuslyapple for more writing and headcanons :]


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